The Dawn of All. Robert Hugh Benson
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"Do you know what this is, Monsignor?" asked the doctor, busying himself with the wires.
"I have no idea."
"Well, well. … Now, Monsignor, kindly loosen your waistcoat, so that I can get at your breast and back."
"Is it a stethoscope?"
"Something like it," smiled the doctor. "But how did you know that name? Never mind. Now then, please."
He placed the camera affair on the corner of the table near the arm-chair; and then, very rapidly, began to affix the discs—it seemed by some process of air-exhaustion—all over the head, breast, and back of the amazed man. No sensation followed this at all, except the very faint feeling of skin-contraction at each point of contact.
"May I have that blind down, your Eminence? … Ah! that's better. Now then."
He bent closely over the square box on the table, and seemed to peer at something inside. The others kept silence.
"Well?" asked the Cardinal at last.
"Perfectly satisfactory, your Eminence. There is a very faint discoloration, but no more than is usual in a man of Monsignor's temperament at any excitement. There is absolutely nothing wrong, and—Monsignor," he continued, looking straight at the wire-bedecked invalid, "not the very faintest indication of anything even approaching insanity or imbecility."
The man who had lost his memory drew a swift breath.
"May I see, doctor?" asked the Cardinal suavely.
"Certainly, your Eminence; and Monsignor can look himself, if he likes."
When the other two had looked, the sick man himself was given the box.
"(Carefully with that wire, please.) There!" said the doctor.
"Look down there."
In the centre of the box, shielded by a little plate of glass, there appeared a small semi-luminous globe. This globe seemed tinted with slightly wavering colours, in which a greyish blue predominated; but, almost like a pulse, there moved across it from time to time a very pale red tint, suffusing it, and then dying away again.
"What is it?" asked the man in the chair hoarsely, lifting his head.
"That, my dear Monsignor," explained the doctor carefully, "is a reflection of your physical condition. It is an exceedingly simple, though of course very delicate instrument. The method was discovered—"
"Is it anything to do with magnetism?"
"They used to call it that, I think. It's got several names now. All mental disturbance has, of course, a physical side to it, and that is how we are able to record it physically. It was discovered by a monk, of course."
"But … but it's marvellous."
"Everything is marvellous, Monsignor. Certainly this, however, caused a revolution. It became the symbol of the whole modern method of medicine."
"What's that?" The doctor laughed.
"That's a large question," he said.
"But … "
"Well, in a word, it's the old system turned upside down. A century ago when a man was ill they began by doctoring his body. Now, when a man's ill, they begin by doctoring his mind. You see the mind is much more the man than the body is, as Theology always taught us. Therefore by dealing with the mind——"
"But that's Christian Science!"
The doctor looked bewildered.
"It was an old heresy, doctor," put in the Cardinal, smiling, "that denied the reality of matter. No, Monsignor, we don't deny the reality of matter. It's perfectly real. Only, as the doctor says, we prefer to attack the real root of the disease, rather than its physical results. We still use drugs; but only to remove painful symptoms."
"That … that sounds all right," stammered the man, bewildered by the simplicity of it. "Then … then do you mean, your Eminence, that physical diseases are treated—?"
"There are no physical diseases left," put in the doctor. "Of course there are accidents and external physical injuries; but practically all the rest have disappeared. Very nearly all of them were carried by the blood, and, by dealing with this, the tissues are made immune. Our discoveries also in the region of innervation——"
"But … but … are there no diseases then?"
"Why, yes, Monsignor," interrupted the Cardinal, with the patient air of one talking to a child, "there are hundreds of those; and they are very real indeed; but they are almost entirely mental—or psychical, as some call them. And there are specialists on all of these. Bad habits of thought, for example, always set up some kind of disease; and there are hospitals for these; and even isolation homes."
"Forgive me, your Eminence," put in the doctor, with a certain imperiousness, "but I think we ought not to talk to Monsignor too much on this subject. May I put a question or two?"
"I beg your pardon, doctor. Certainly. Put any question you wish."
The doctor sat down again.
"Have you been in the habit of saying Mass every day, Monsignor?"
"I … I don't know," said the invalid.
"Yes, doctor," put in Father Jervis.
"And confession once a week?"
"Twice a week," said Father Jervis. "I am Monsignor's confessor."
"Very good," said the doctor. "For the present, as far as I am concerned, I should recommend confession only once a fortnight as a general rule. Mass can be as before. Then Monsignor may say half of his office every day, or the rosary; but not both. And no other devotions of any kind, except the particular Examen. If Monsignor and Father Jervis both consent, I should like the Examen to be forwarded to a priest-doctor for a few weeks."
An exclamation broke from the invalid.
"Well, Monsignor?"
"I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
The Cardinal leaned forward.
"Monsignor, listen to me. In these cases the doctor always gives his advice. You see even the sacraments have their mental side; and on this mental side the doctor speaks. But the whole decision rests entirely with the patient and his confessor; or they can call in an expert priest-doctor. Only a priest can possibly decide finally the relations between the grace of the sacraments and their reactionary effect upon the mind. A lay doctor only recommends. Are you satisfied?"
The man nodded. It seemed very simple, so stated.
"For the rest," continued the doctor, with a certain stateliness of manner, "I order a complete change of scene. This must be for a fortnight at least, if not longer. If the priest-doctor's report—to whom the Examen may be sent—is not satisfactory, it will have to be for longer. The patient must engage in no business that does not honestly interest him."
"May he travel to-night?" asked the Cardinal.
"The sooner the better," said the doctor, rising.
"What is the matter with me?" asked the invalid hoarsely.
"It is a small mental explosion, but it has not affected the mechanism of the brain. There is not, as I have said, a trace of insanity or of loss of balance. I cannot promise that the injury will be repaired; but defects that may follow from this can easily be remedied by study. It simply depends upon yourself, Monsignor, as to in how long you can be at your post again here. As soon as you have learned the threads of business, you will be able to apply yourself as before. I shall look for a report in a fortnight's time at the latest. Good day, your Eminence."
(II)